Cowboy Pickup
Page 1
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter One
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
Cowboy Pickup
ISBN # 978-1-78686-200-6
©Copyright Vonna Harper 2017
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright April 2017
Edited by Sue Meadows
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2017 by Totally Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, UK
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Melting and a Sexometer of 3.
COWBOY PICKUP
Vonna Harper
Cowboy and cowgirl. A one-night stand to beat all one-night stands—or will there be more?
Friday night at the Sidewinder bar is exactly what rancher Loria needs. Nothing like some cold beer and hot men. Then a tall, lean, just-off-the-range wrangler in a Stetson walks in and makes his move. She accepts. Okay, more than accepts. Gives as good as she gets.
To hell with their appreciative and half-drunk audience. To hell with possible consequences. Loria is going to ride her cowboy, repeatedly. Of course, there’s the matter of his determination to beat her to the punch, not that she minds. Against the bar. On top of the table. Mare and stallion.
The deeds done, there’s nothing left to do but go their separate ways, right? Maybe not, because sometimes a one-night stand has an unexpected twist.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:
Stetson: John B. Stetson Company
Chapter One
“There’s going to be hell to pay if I don’t get laid tonight.”
Laughing, Loria punched her friend Crissy on the shoulder. “Oh, you’ll get your itches scratched in here, no doubt about it.” She eyed the warped and splintered door to the Sidewinder bar. “Same as me.” Hopefully.
“You’d better after all the work you went to clearing the decks so you could come here, to say nothing of pouring yourself into those jeans. Are you going to be able to sit in them?”
Loria resisted the urge to tug on the jeans’ crotch. “If things go according to plan, I won’t be sitting.”
“Got ya.” Smiling broadly, Crissy reached for the door handle. “Let’s go meet us some cowboys.”
From the moment they’d pulled into the gravel parking lot, which was clogged with pickups and stock trailers, the sound of country and western music had reached out to play with their senses. Hearing honky-tonk sent energy pounding through Loria, not that she needed a reminder of how long it had been since she’d felt a man’s body pressed against hers.
Eager for the night to begin, she hip-bumped Crissy aside and opened the door. Guitar twangs and a deep, nasally male voice singing about hard drinking and hot women all but knocked her back on her boot heels.
“Holy shit, the place is rocking,” Crissy exclaimed.
“Sure is. Looks like all of the wranglers are back.”
Feeling as if she were about to enter a wild horse enclosure, Loria went inside. Even before her eyes fully adjusted to the blood-colored beer signs shining at her from the walls, her body told her the Sidewinder was packed. The central Oregon town where she’d lived for her entire life had a couple of newer, cleaner and better maintained watering holes, but the Sidewinder was where the sprawling county’s real cowboys hung out.
Which was one hundred percent why she was here.
Pulling in the aroma of male, denim and leather, she stepped onto the scarred wooden floor. The bar stools, as well as the tables, were occupied by mostly lean-assed men. Although she caught sight of a few women, she barely nodded at them.
Cowboys watched her and Crissy. Sucking in her stomach, she concentrated on making her ass sway. Okay, so her physical lifestyle called for short nails, calluses and a permanent farmer’s tan, but there were benefits—specifically, a firm yet feminine body.
She hadn’t worn a bra under her pale-blue, long-sleeved snap shirt.
“A tad bit of testosterone in here,” Crissy almost yelled into her ear. “Feel it?”
“Feel? I’m practically swimming in it.”
“It’ll get even better once we have a drink in us. Beer or whiskey?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Loria said as they approached the glass and bottle cluttered bar. “Ten to one we won’t have to buy.”
“You think I’m going to take that bet?” Crissy laughed. “Damn, I swear I could take all of them on.”
Loria waved a finger at the bartender then ran her gaze over the packed space. In daylight, the Sidewinder was downright depressing. However, tonight was a different story. Three couples gyrated on the small dance floor. They were practically fucking standing up and fully clothed, arms around necks and pelvises locked together. As she watched them, heat began at the top of her head, slapped her cheeks, burned her neck then swept over her breasts with their already hard nipples.
Three weeks without sex had turned her inside out.
“What’ll it be, ladies?” the bartender asked.
Recognizing Harry who was the part-owner, Loria asked what beer was the coldest.
“It’s all good, you know that,” Harry shot back with a fake-injured tone. “That’s what you’re here for, right? The booze.”
Loria, Crissy and Harry laughed at the joke. Then before the women could place their orders, a couple of tall, slim young men sidled up to them.
“You fillies shouldn’t be wasting your hard-earned money tending to your thirsts when we’re around to spoil you,” the taller of the two announced. “We just got paid. No better place to spend it than on a couple of fillies.”
“I appreciate the compliment,” Loria said, “but I’m hardly a filly. For the record, I turned thirty last month.”
“Seriously? You don’t look it.”
She tilted her head. “Speaking of age, how old are you?”
The two men exchanged glances. “I’m twenty-six,” the taller one said.
“And I’m twenty-nine and holding,” Crissy said. “However, I think we can make this work at least for one evening.”
“For sure.” The man draped his arm around her shoulder.
The other man started to do the same to Loria.
“Sorry.” Loria pushed his arm away. “I’m not that easy. Besides, you smell like a horse that’s been rode hard and put away wet.”
“If you want cologne and manicures,” the man said, “you’ve come to the wrong bar.”
“Oh.” Loria smiled to soften the impact of her
words. “I’m in the right place. I’m just not done checking out the merchandise.”
Grumbling something that came close to getting him a knee between his legs, the man stalked off. Loria had never seen him before, not that she cared.
The man who was still hanging onto Crissy—he said his name was Brent—offered to add Loria’s beer to his tab. She said yes, and when it was delivered, she took a long swallow. That done, she slowly, thoroughly studied the room.
Telling the man who’d tried to come on to her that he smelled like a sweaty horse applied to most of those in the Sidewinder tonight. These were the real deal, wranglers with bowed legs and hair permanently creased from their Stetsons. Squint lines had been carved deep into the corners of their eyes. Their hands and forearms were scarred from barbed wire, and she had no doubt that most bore old broken bones and fresh bruises, compliments of unruly horses and dim-witted beef cattle. They spent quiet, lonely weeks on the county’s high desert ranges keeping an eye on said cattle.
Well, one of those cowboys was going to get the chance to spend the night with her.
Her jeans trapped her pussy, and her thighs felt as if she was wearing a girdle, but that wasn’t the only reason she was so aware of her body. More than a handful of gazes were taking note of her braless state.
Another wave of body awareness sped through her, prompting her to toss back the straight dark-brown hair she usually kept contained in a loose braid. Having it around her shoulders brushing her cheeks and throat added to the sense that she was truly feminine. Too bad she didn’t often feel like that, not that she would have changed her life.
Ah, there, someone trying to catch her eye. She clutched her cold beer. Her belly clenched and moisture heated her barely there panties. Talk about getting turned on double time.
Although Crissy had wandered off, Loria pretended she was describing the man who was sitting between two other cowboys at a small corner table.
“Can’t tell how tall he is since he’s sitting down,” she mentally told Crissy. “But his shoulders are higher than his companions’. Wider too. Black hair under his equally black Stetson. Needing a haircut, not that I’m complaining. He’s studying me as if I’m the only woman in the room, and those eyes—holy shit, if they aren’t black, they’re darn near. Bedroom eyes for sure. Short-sleeved shirt. Good. And those forearms. Damn, take a gawk at the muscles. Oh, yeah, back to those shoulders. He could throw me over one of them and march out of here with my boobs smashed against his back. Don’t know where he’s taking me, not that I care as long as a mattress or something like it is part of the adventure.”
The dark-haired man was getting to his feet, hands planted on the table, leaning forward as his unseen legs easily accepted his weight. Paying his companions and drink no mind, he slid around the table and headed her way.
He walked slow and steady, solid thighs and neat hips caressed by jeans that appeared as if they’d been in service for a hundred years and knew his body intimately. The bulge between his legs stopped her mid-swallow. No doubt about it, he was doubly well-hung.
Closer. Gliding, despite his faded boots. Heading straight for her, the pace making her think of a cowboy approaching a skittish calf. If she were a calf, he’d calm her with a deep whisper and gentle hands, and in minutes, she’d stop trembling and trust him with her life.
Tonight, she ached to trust him with her body.
“Looks like you lost your friend,” he said when he was in front of her and she was craning her head to see into his no-doubt-about-it black eyes. “I hate to see someone like you alone.”
“Someone like me?” She tightened her hold on her bottle. “What do you think you know about me?”
Boldly letting her see what he was doing, he ran his gaze from her face to her breasts. “Plenty. You’re a woman who’s proud of what nature gave you, which is just right. You aren’t afraid to let a man know she wants to get laid.”
“That’s an interesting observation.” Although she was tempted to stand on her toes, her boots weren’t made for that. For a man who didn’t appear as if he carried an extra ounce, he sure as hell made a physical statement. Not only was he every bit as tall as she’d suspected—a couple of inches over six feet—his shoulders were out to there and could upend a steer without breaking a sweat. As for how he handled women—
Forget other women. She was only interested in herself.
“Are you searching for anyone in particular?” he asked. “Maybe I fit the bill.”
His hands were by his hips. Just the same, her throat felt as if he’d flattened a palm over it. Play coy. Make him work for it. “I’m not sure. You didn’t shave today.”
He rubbed his jaw, something she wished she was doing. “Nope. Doesn’t feel as if I did.”
“Why not?”
A shrug of those awesome shoulders sent more wet heat to her crotch. “It crossed my mind but by then we were reaching the loading pens.”
The pens were next to the railroad. Once cattle were loaded onto the cars, they were taken far from where they’d been born and fattened on countless acres of remote land. Because it was her world, as well, she knew his total focus earlier had been on ensuring the valuable livestock’s safety.
“And now you’re celebrating by getting drunk,” she observed, though she hadn’t seen any sign of that. “Do you have a name, cowboy?”
He grinned. “How does Tadd suit you? What’s yours?”
Her mouth twitched. “Tadd? Yeah, that’ll work. You can call me Darnelle.”
“Glad to meet you, Darnelle.” He extended a deeply tanned paw at her.
Feeling strong and bold, she placed her hand in his, but as he closed his fingers around hers, she nearly lost her hold on her beer. A little dribbled out.
“Look out.” He righted the bottle. “You don’t want to waste—”
“That’s all right.” Okay, so he wasn’t letting go of her hand. It wasn’t as if she’d lose composure. After all, she’d held hands with more than one male in her life. “I didn’t pay for it. Besides, I’m not sure I want it after all.”
“That so?” He tilted his head. “Yeah, you appear to be a whiskey woman, the expensive stuff.”
“No rotgut, all right? I have a sensitive stomach.”
He glanced down. “Your belly appears just fine to me.’
Holding her ground, she pulled her hand free then reached behind her so she could place the beer on the bar. So far things were going great. “You came to that conclusion about my preference for whiskey just from our talking for a few seconds?”
“I’m an observant man. Have to be. Otherwise, I’d lose calves to wolves, coyotes and cougars.”
“Are you trying to impress me with how you earn your keep?”
“Is it working?”
Yes. Instead of giving him the response she was certain he wanted, she laughed. “Back to what you said. I’ve never thought of myself as a calf.”
“Then what do you think you are?” He again cocked his head. His gaze held on her breasts.
“I’m a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it.”
“And what is it you want?”
“Oh.” She took in an exaggerated breath and thrust her chest in his direction. “I believe you know the answer to that.”
Not taking his attention off that part of her anatomy, he closed both hands around her hips. “Say it then.”
Her heart rate kicking up, she folded her arms under her breasts. “To get laid.”
His mouth twitched. “You don’t pull your punches.”
“No, I don’t. Waste of time.”
“About you getting laid, is that why you’re talking to me?”
“Maybe. If you can prove you’re man enough.”
“No doubt I can.”
“Oh, yeah?” Keep it going. Meet him innuendo for innuendo. “Prove it then.”
His mouth twisted in what might have been a denied smile. “Here? Now?”
“Here and now.”
“That’s a problem? You’re shy?”
“Heck, no. And going by your lack of support…” He jerked his head at her breasts. “You aren’t, either.”
Wanting to be sure she had his full attention, like that was in doubt, she waited several seconds before speaking. “That turn you off? Maybe you want modest and circumspect.”
Instead of answering, he let go of her left hip, snagged her wrist and drew her hand down to his cock. Understanding perfectly, she cradled his no-doubt-about-it erection.
“No,” she told him, “you aren’t turned off.”
“No shit. Next step,” he muttered, “calls for deciding where we’re going to get it on.”
Damn it, despite her bold words and hopefully bring-it-on expression, inside she was shaking. If he caught on to her trembling, would he believe she was having second thoughts? Hopefully not, because excitement and anticipation fueled her. She’d been thinking about a moment like this for so damn long. To finally have it arrive…
“All right,” she said, “location.” Leaning to the side while still holding on to his erection, she glanced beyond him. “How about the table where you were sitting? It’s not very big but none of them are. Think you can get your friends to make room for us?”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.” I think so. “How about you?”
Still studying her, he nodded. “You don’t have to ask. I pay their salaries, so yes, my hired hands will do what I say.”
All right. Okay. Gonna do this. No backing out, understand.
Because there was no way they could thread their way to the table while grasping each other the way they were, she reluctantly released his cock so he could run interference. Her palm buzzed with memories of his contours as she focused on his taut ass beneath the practical denim. Oh yes, she had chosen well.